


Hide and Seek

by macbethundead



Category: Secret History - Donna Tartt
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Child Neglect, Drug Abuse, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:07:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26774872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/macbethundead/pseuds/macbethundead
Summary: Richard is almost 30. He has quite a sad life, but he's getting through it. Until Camilla calls him in the middle of the night to tell him that Charles stole a kid and is heading to New-York.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 3





	Hide and Seek

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first time I write in English something else than college work! I appreciate every remark. Enjoy Richard being a sad drunk and Charles being a confused crackhead (:

I was going to be thirty in exactly two months when the phone rang in my tiny New-York apartment where I lived by the time. I was living on my own since the day Sophie split up, and it was years ago. I had found out that I was way better by myself, me and Soph (from Sophocles, not Sophie), a pretty stupid dog who only stopped barking to sleep and eat. Soph was Sophie's idea. She left without him. I don't have anyone else to take care of anyway. He can be sweet, sometimes, when he comes sleeping with me at night.  
I was not sleeping very well, at the time. When I was younger, my nights were a struggle, but as I grew older, and this is something I went to understand by going to see this shrink Francis recommended me, it became a nightmare. For a couple of years, I couldn't sleep one second without pills or by drinking myself to sleep, and then obviously my body got accustomed.  
I didn't realized I had a drinking problem the first or the second time I got out of the drunk tank, or when I wrecked my car and lost my licence, neither when I got kicked out of a job for a stupid reason I won't share; actually, I wasn't seeing any problem in my way of living at all, it seemed perfectly normal, because we were all drinking to excess, Francis and Charles and Bunny and me (mostly us, to be honest) back in the days. I had some dark periods, through which I liked to see Francis, because he is such a comforting friend and because he moslty understands what I am going through, but soon he got sick and I stopped seeing him. Visiting him in his grandiloquent Bostonian house, him and this wife of his, made me feel even worse than just drowning in my loneliness, because his place smelt like illness and sadness so much I always thought I was going to kill myself jumping from the third floor.  
I was living a fine life; quite sad, quite lonely, but it was mine. I enjoyed spending my nights at the bar, listening to the bad country music from the speakers. I enjoyed going back home by foot (they never gave me back my driving licence because I kept showing up drunk in court) and I almost got to enjoy spending most of my nights sitting close to the window, watching the grey starless sky and counting the hours, sometimes wondering if I wouldn't be better off dead. The darkness seemed always to murmur the most beautiful and romantic poems to my tired ear, and I was listening as if all this misery got a real meaning other than being my over-worked mind asking me to end it all. 

Anyway, it was almost midnight when the phone rang. I had already done good damages to the Vodka bottle (I had always been terribly bad at doing Bloody Mary's; too much alcohol, not enough tomatoe juice, maybe because I didn't really like it in the first place) and I managed my way through the living-room to reach the telephone.  
\- Hello?  
\- Richard? Hey, I asked Francis to give me your number.  
It was Camilla. It had been so long since I heard her voice that I thought I was dreaming. I didn't say anything, too shocked to talk, and I listened to her sharp breathing from wherever she was, most certainly Virginia, but it wasn't impossible to be somewhere else.  
\- Are you still here?  
\- I am.  
I had missed her voice. Yet, in the same time, I felt an old anger, not so much familiar now, taking possession of my mind. I was good at handling it. So I said nothing.  
\- I am sorry to wake you up.  
\- You didn't wake me up. Do you need anything?  
\- Actually, yes, I do.  
All those years had passed, and once again we were finding ourselves tip-toeing next to each other, like two enemies so old they did not even remember where their hate came from.  
\- Tell me.  
\- It's Charles. (Silence. I wanted to sit down but I couldn't because the telephone wire wasn't long enough, so instead I leaned against the wall and looked at my bare feet.) He stole a kid.  
\- He did what?  
\- A kid. He took it couple hours ago. It's my nephew.  
\- What the hell are you talking about? Why do you call me?  
\- I think he went near New-York. Francis is too sick to do anything. I thought you would agree to help.  
I took the time to breathe. It was mad.  
\- What do you want me to do?  
\- To put your goddamn shoes and look for them.  
\- I don't have a car.  
\- Don't you have Henry's car? (I did not say anything, so she kept on going.) Neither do they anyway. Take a fucking bus.  
She was angry, now. It was understandable. Nevertheless, I did not have the will to help at all. I did not care. I had drawn a line long ago on Hampden and its crazy shit, on Charles and on Camilla.  
\- Listen, Richard. I don't like to ask you that more than you like to hear it. Lilian can't look after himself and Charles certainly won't look after him.  
\- How old is the kid?  
\- Four. He's autistic. Doesn't talk. He's a sweet kid, Charles loves him, but I don't trust him at all with a child for now.  
It was a lot of information to handle, so I took the time to analyse the wall in front of me before talking.  
\- What is going on with Charles?  
\- What is going on is that he got dragged into crack by that woman from rehab. I think she left him or something. He came by in disastrous shape. He wasn't really coherent.  
I wanted to end the conversation and go to sleep. I couldn't see through a window in the hallway but I could hear the rain falling hard over the rooves. But, and by the same movement that made me end up in a hotel room getting shot in the stomach, instead of hanging up and going to bed, I sighted heavily and asked for more info.  
\- Do you have any idea where they might come from?  
\- Well, they left from Virginia. Maybe they took the train. I give you my number. Tell me if you get more informations. (Another silence; longer than the other ones. She was hesitating.) Thank you, Richard. I am absolutely devastated to ask you this kind of service. But you know how to handle Charles well. He will listen to you.  
\- After all this time, I'm not so sure. But anyway. I'll do my best. Good night.

I was sick of hearing her voice. Hanging up made me feel the kind of relief I hadn't felt in years.


End file.
